


this roof is a blanket that's keeping you warm

by icarusandtheson



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 11:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusandtheson/pseuds/icarusandtheson
Summary: The Hamilton-Washingtons travel upstate to spend a long weekend at the Schuyler Estate. Alex gets hurt, falls further in love with his family, and takes a break: in roughly that order.





	this roof is a blanket that's keeping you warm

**Author's Note:**

> For Hobbes, who loves Philip and Eliza more than life, for beta-ing and constant support.
> 
> warning for mild injuries.

“So, I went around him like _this,”_ Philip hits the soccer ball with the side of his foot, making a neat little arc around Alex’s legs, “and I scored before he could see where the ball was!”

“Fancy,” Alex says appreciatively, and Philip’s beaming smile makes his heart hurt, a little.

“I know! Coach said that if I keep practicing, he might make me a forward.” He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t think I’m fast enough, though. That was just during practice.”

“You’ll get faster,” Alex says, reaching out to ruffle his curls. “You’re still little.”

“Alex, I’m _eight,”_ Philip says, with all the gravitas an eight-year-old can muster.

“Oh, _excuse me,_ then,” Alex drawls, and Philip giggles.

The laughter melts away quickly, though, and Philip suddenly seems incredibly invested in his grass-stained sneakers. “Do you think you can come to one of my games, soon?” He looks up, adds quickly, “There’s one in a couple of weeks, so it doesn’t have to be right away. I know you need to know early, for work.”

Alex feels a little twinge of guilt at that, does a quick mental check of his upcoming deadlines. He’d have to make it work regardless, but it’s doable. “Sure, buddy.”

Philip brightens. “Do you think George will come, too?”

“You can ask him when he gets here,” Alex says, even though he already knows the answer. He’s fairly sure George would give this kid the moon if he asked for it. He’s leaving work early to make it today; shuffling around a few meetings to make a soccer game won’t be an issue.

Philip nods, curls glinting in the sun. Alex kind of understands why Eliza is so loathe to have them cut. “Cool.” He looks so completely happy, and Alex is suddenly, intensely glad that he took Eliza up on her long-weekend invitation. “Wanna play?”

Alex rolls his eyes in mock-exasperation. “Duh.” He has a half-second to process the impish grin on Philip’s face before he’s kicking the ball across the field and bolting after it. “Hey! Not fair!”

“It’s practice!” Philip crows. “No rules!”

 They use a couple of saplings as goal posts, and Philip, predictably, runs circles around him. He wonders with vague amusement if this is what getting old feels like, resolves to ask George later just to see his face.

“I thought you said you used to be _good_ at this,” Philip says. He’s painfully sincere, not even trying to tease, and somehow that’s worse.

“When I was your age, I was.” Soccer was the one sport he was decent at -- smaller and scrawnier than the rest of the kids, yeah, but damn if he wasn’t fast. He stopped, though, after his mother -- after. Didn’t have the time. “I might be out of practice.”

“Maybe,” Philip agrees, and there’s a little glint in his eye that makes Alex think he _is_ fucking with him after all.

“Okay, look -- “ He rests his weight on his back foot, trying to balance the ball on the other. It takes a few tries, but he manages. He plants his back foot, feels it sink slightly into a plot of mud. “I’m gonna toss it and kick it into the goal before it even touches the ground.”

“Okay,” says Philip, and Alex has the distinct impression that he’s being humored, here.

“I’ve done it before!”

“When you were my age.”

Yeah, alright. The kid’s definitely a Schuyler.

Alex fixes him with a withering look, ignores the ensuing laughter as he refocuses. He tosses the ball up, shifts his leg back to get the right momentum. His foot slides back, and when he kicks, it goes right out from under him.

He has a moment to mourn any chance he had at being the cool uncle, and then his back hits the ground and the only thought in his head is the string of expletives he absolutely _cannot_ let out in front of Eliza’s child.

The pain is immediate and intense, flaring up his spine to the back of his head.

“Alex?” Philip comes over to him, his voice gone high and scared. “Are you okay?”

Alex takes a second to figure out how to breathe around the pain. “Yeah, I think I landed wrong,” he says, as evenly as he can manage.

Philip looks down at him, utterly skeptical.

“Just -- give me your hand and pull, okay?” But the moment Philip tries, pain lances through his back, hot and sharp enough to leave him breathless. He makes some kind of sound, inaudible over the ringing in his ears, and Philip stops immediately. “Okay, bad idea. Sorry.”

“Alex?” Philip watches him with Eliza’s wide, kind eyes. Usually, the resemblance is endearing, but right now all Alex can think of is all the times he put that exact worried, fearful look on Eliza’s face.

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m fine. I just pulled a muscle, or something.” He pulls his mouth into something less grimace, more smile. “I’m old, it happens.”

“I’m gonna go get Mom,” Philip says, with the certainty of a child who’s never met a problem his mother can’t fix. He pauses. “You’re gonna be okay, right? I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“I’ll be right here,” Alex promises.

“I’m sorry I made fun of you.”

“Philip, it’s okay. Go.”

“Okay.” He shifts back on his feet, but he pauses, then drops to his knees besides Alex in the mud. He presses a kiss to Alex’s forehead, and then he’s up and gone, yelling for Eliza.  

\-------

“Is it cold or hot compress for pulled muscles?” Alex asks. “I usually just use whatever George tells me to put on it.”

“I know how to handle a strained back, Alex,” Eliza says, amusement coloring her voice as she walks in back into the living room.

Alex glances at Philip, focused on the cartoons frolicking across the TV screen. He hasn’t let go of Alex’s hand since he offered it. “Right.”

“You need ice right now to take the swelling down, the heat comes later.” She presses the ice pack down on his back. Even wrapped in a towel, the shock against his skin is almost painful.

“Jesus!” Alex hisses.

“You’re fine. Try to relax until George gets here, okay?”

Alex shuts his eyes and stifles a groan. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

“Probably not,” Eliza says, with substantially less sympathy than he’d like. He probably deserves it, considering the scare he gave her.

“Thank you,” he says, glancing over his shoulder as much as he can manage. “For the ice, and for dragging me back here.”

“You’re welcome.” She rests a hand against the back of his head, stroking his hair for a moment. She pulls away and kneels down beside Philip. “Do you want something to eat?”

He shakes his head, grip tightening around Alex’s hand.

“Alex is gonna be fine, honey. He just needs to rest.”

“Leave him,” Alex says. “He’s keeping me company.” That, at least, finally gets a smile out of Philip. “You can finish your work -- I promised you at least another hour of babysitting.”

Alex spends the next while drifting in and out, watching TV through Philip’s curls when the pain refuses to let him settle. He’s starting to slide back under when the doorbell rings.  

“George!” Philip is off like a shot, beating Eliza to the door by a mile. There’s the sound of the door opening, then a soft thud: almost definitely Philip launching himself into George’s arms. Their laughter fills the house, and Alex’s mouth twitches into a smile.

“Hey, sweetheart,” George says, enough fondness in his voice to make Alex’s chest ache. “I missed you.”

Philip’s response is muffled, presumably returning the sentiment.

A pause. “Where’s Alex?”

“In here,” Alex calls. He tries to shift up onto his elbows, regrets it almost immediately.

“He got hurt,” Philip says.

The shift in the air is almost palpable. “He did?”

“Here we go,” Alex mutters.

“Mom says he’s gonna be okay, though.” A pause. “Right?”

“Right,” Eliza assures. The door clicks shut. “He pulled a muscle in his back. I helped him back to the house --”

“He couldn’t walk? Why didn’t you call me?” George’s voice gets closer, and Alex lets go of tension he wasn’t aware he was still holding. Embarrassing, or it would be, if George’s shoulders didn’t sag in relief the moment they laid eyes on each other.

“Because you’d get into an accident trying to rush here,” Alex says. “Don’t hassle Eliza, she just did what I said.”

“Only because I was sure it wasn’t serious,” Eliza adds.

“We were playing soccer,” Philip explains, following at George’s heels as he approaches the couch. “He slipped trying to do a trick.”

George snorts softly. “Of course he did.”

“Yeah, I’m an idiot -- nothing you didn’t already know. Can we drop it?”

George does a terrible job of concealing his smile as he kneels. “Are you embarrassed?”

Alex musters up the energy for a glare, but then George settles a hand on his back, broad and warm and so incredibly gentle, and it’s fucking impossible to focus on anything else.

“You feel better now, right?” Philip asks, looking anxiously between them.

George raises an eyebrow, and Alex explains, “Philip’s been keeping me company. I think I scared him.”

“A little,” Philip admits reluctantly.

“A little,” Alex amends.

George nods, understanding shifting over his face. He turns to Phillip, shifts his weight back so that they’re closer in height. “It can be scary, when someone we love gets hurt. Thank you for staying with Alex. I’m going to take care of him now, and he’s going to be fine, okay?”

Alex considers pointing out that he’s _right here,_ and that he’s had way worse, but he keeps quiet.

Philip nods, clearly relieved. “Okay.”

“Good. Now give me a hug.”

Philip grins and throws his arms around George’s neck. Alex sees Eliza catch George’s gaze over the kid’s head, sees the gratitude there.

“You’re such a dad,” Alex mutters as Eliza ushers Philip out. “Shut up,” he adds at George’s knowing look.

“I didn’t say anything.” He rubs gentle circles between Alex’s shoulder blades, and Alex decides enjoying that is a better option than calling his husband out on his shit.

“Where does it hurt, baby?”

Alex shudders a little, at the touch or the warmth in George’s voice, or both. “Everywhere,” he mutters. George makes a low, sympathetic noise, his other hand reaching up to stroke through Alex’s hair. Alex melts into it, turns to nuzzle against George’s arm.

“I leave you alone for five minutes,” George says. “In the middle of a big city, you’re fine. Upstate with nothing around you but grass and flowers, you manage this.”

Alex cracks an eye open. “My powers are limited to the five boroughs. I’m vulnerable out here.”

“Poor thing,” George drawls. “Do you want me to take your jeans off?”

Alex smirks. “Sure, if you’re really, _really_ gentle and do all the work.”

George arches a brow. “So, the usual, then?”

Alex guffaws. “Fuck _off.”_ He stays still as George works on undressing him, though, biting into his bottom lip whenever a sharp twinge hits him. “If this isn’t gone by the time we go back home, we’re telling everyone I got hit by a car, or whatever else is less embarrassing.”

“You’ll be fine,” George says. “Can you lift your hips for me?”

Alex snorts, bracing his weight on his arms to give George an extra inch or two of space to work with. “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that one…” He tilts his head in thought. “Actually, I do, since your dumb ass refused a prenup.”

George swats at the back of his bare thigh, not nearly enough force to sting or jar his injury, but enough that Alex has to bury his surprised yelp in the cushion.

“Alexander, _behave.”_

“You behave,” Alex mutters. “I’m severely limited in terms of entertainment, here.”

He can practically hear George rolling his eyes as he tugs his jeans off. He adjusts Alex’s ice pack. “Alright?”

Alex rests his head in the crook of his arm. “Yeah.”

“I’ll get your pajamas, and then you can sleep.” He pauses. “You didn’t hit your head hard, right?”

“I don’t have a concussion.” Alex winces. “I don’t know if I can sleep, though.”

George stands, moves back into his line of vision to tug a blanket over him. “Then at least you’ll be comfortable.”

Alex nods, lets his eyes slide shut while he waits. The pain isn’t as bad, as long as he doesn’t move too sharply. He can hear the soft sounds of people moving through the house -- George in the foyer with the suitcases, Eliza and Philip upstairs. It’s enough to lull him, and it takes effort to rouse himself when George comes back.

“It’s alright,” George says, pulling the blanket back. Alex muffles a whine against his arm at the gust of cold. “You can rest, just tell me if I hurt you.”

It’s slow going, but Alex can’t count the amount of times George has helped him get dressed for bed over the years, either because Alex was sick or worked himself miles past exhaustion -- even the sore back isn’t a first, so it’s with easy familiarity that George tugs his clothes on, supporting his weight when that necessitates moving.

“Again,” Alex says, in a futile attempt to distract himself from his heart beating in his mouth, _“such_ a dad.”

George shrugs, entirely unbothered as he smooths Alex’s hair back. “Somebody has to take care of you.”

There’s a retort for that, maybe, but it gets lost as Alex notices how George’s wedding band catches the light. So he lets that slide. That, and the kiss George presses to his forehead, which should feel mocking, like he’s playing into the joke, but doesn’t.

Alex doesn’t know how to respond to it, to any of it: the care, the love, the easy way George navigates all of it. He shifts his head, ignoring the warning hum in his back, and presses his mouth to George’s. It’s not nearly enough, doesn’t say half of what he wants to, but when he pulls back, George has the same half-smile he wears whenever Alex says something that catches him off guard in the best way. That _you’re brilliant and I’m so glad you’re here_ look.

“Try to sleep,” George says, his hand finding its place on Alex’s back as he gets comfortable. He leans his head against the arm of the couch, long legs stretching out onto the carpet. “I’ll be here.”

\-------

Alex wakes up to every muscle in his body stiff and protesting the return to consciousness. He nearly goes back under out of sheer lack of desire to deal with it, but the steady pressure between his shoulder blades is gone. He opens his eyes and reels for a moment, finding George’s spot beside him empty.

The panic dissolves as the room comes into focus; George is sprawled across the carpet, arms crossed behind his head. He changed at some point, more comfortable now in soft flannel pants and an old T-shirt that -- well, god bless it, it’s trying, but Alex really isn’t sure that it’s going to last if George keeps his arms flexed in that position. He sympathizes, but he’s also really not rooting for the shirt in this situation.

Philip sits cross-legged beside George, both of them surrounded by books and drawings and toys. George listens raptly, asking questions every once in a while and sending Philip off on a whole new tangent. The smile never really leaves his face, but it grows bright now at something Philip says, a soft laugh escaping him. It’s… it’s a lot, it makes Alex feel a lot of conflicting emotions that he’s not sure what to do with. He’d be lying if he claimed he never thought about it -- a baby with those stupidly adorable curls Alex has seen in so many of George’s old pictures, and that devastating smile.

It’s his choice to make, he knows that. George helped raise two children to adulthood, and he dotes on Philip now; he doesn’t need or necessarily want more, and Alex can’t help but want George all to himself, just for a little bit longer.

Still. It’s worth thinking about.

He hears footsteps, glances back as Eliza settles into the loveseat beside him. She smiles when she realizes he’s awake. “How are you feeling?” she asks, quiet enough not to disrupt the story Philip is in the middle of.

“Like I got hit by a truck.”

She huffs a laugh. “Angelica says she hopes you feel better, and to try not to die before she arrives tomorrow.”

Alex frowns. “You covered for me, right? Told her I saved Philip from a rockslide or something?”

Eliza blinks at him, expression angelic. “I can’t lie to my sister, Alex.”

Fucking Schuylers.

“Besides, I think it’s sweet that you were trying to impress Philip,” she says. “Sweet but stupid. He already worships you.”

Alex snorts softly. “He loves me, but I’m not the one he worships.”

They both glance over to the pair on the carpet.

“He learned from the best,” Eliza says, turning to meet his eyes, and there’s nothing but warmth in her words, on her face.

Alex drops his gaze to the carpet, heat crawling up his neck. He feels a twinge of warning at the back of his brain, a remnant from the days when he was doing his damndest not to rub salt in any of the wounds he caused her. But they’re past that now, have been for years. Mostly, he’s just smarting from how fucking _right_ she is.

“Yeah, well. He’s good like that. Philip has good taste -- George won’t let him down.” Something unspoken, there. Even without everything else between them, Alex wasn’t ready to be a father when Eliza was ready to be a mother. Not then, and not now. Not to her children.

It wouldn’t work, didn’t work, for so many reasons, over six feet of which are currently stretched out on Eliza’s carpet, but the crux of all that: they both know Philip would have suffered, if he was Alex’s.

“It wouldn’t matter if he did,” Eliza says. “Philip’s got me, he’ll always have me.”

“He’s the luckiest kid in the world.”

Eliza side-eyes him, mouth curling into a smile. “You’re just saying that so I can change your ice pack.”

“I have a loving husband to tend to me. In sickness and in health. You were in the wedding party, you should remember that.”

Eliza snorts. “He seems occupied at the moment.” At Alex’s frown, she laughs, loud and so, so bright. She crosses the room and settles down beside George, nodding towards Alex. “I’ve got my baby, go get yours.”

Alex splutters. George shifts onto his elbow, grinning. He doesn’t seem particularly surprised to see Alex awake, and Alex wonders if he was just giving them time to talk.

“Are you feeling neglected?” George asks, pushing himself to his feet.

“I’ve been awake five minutes and received zero attention,” Alex says. “That’s grounds for divorce.”

“How's your back holding up?”

“I’ll live.” He stretches out his arm, bumps his knuckles against George’s leg. “Hey, did Philip ask you about going to his game?”

“Yes, provided that you feel better -- his words, even though I told him you’ll be alright before the weekend’s out.” A pause. “We’re going,” he says, no room for argument in his tone.

Alex snorts in amusement. “Yeah, I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> *Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos and comment if you liked it!  
> *Many thanks for lots-of-whamilton on Tumblr for the original prompt.  
> *Find me on Tumblr at [icarusandtheson](https://icarusandtheson.tumblr.com/)


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